


The Real World Beneath the Dreaming

by GiGiS89



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Creature Dean, Creature Sam, Gen, Mild Language, Unrelated Winchesters, Wincest Reverse Bang 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 06:39:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11307819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiGiS89/pseuds/GiGiS89
Summary: Sam treads carefully. He’s been lectured enough about not being seen, about hiding in the shadows, about staying away from the winged creatures who cursed them to this existence.  The creatures are the stuff of every Tussocks’ nightmare. They’re the reason Sam and his kind look the way they do, even if it’s not how they look to each other. The outside world can only see them as what the winged creatures cursed them to be: monsters.





	The Real World Beneath the Dreaming

Author's note: This is my pinch-hit submission for the Wincest Reverse Bang on LJ. I was lucky enough to be able to fill [Loracine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loracine/pseuds/Loracine)'s wonderful [art promt: Dreaming](http://loracine.livejournal.com/33767.html). Please stop by and give her some love. She also gets full credit for the title, which was the original title she had chosen for her prompt.

This story is unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. I still don't own Supernatural. Sad.

 

 

 

Sam knows he shouldn’t be out here. There are dangers in the wood: animals who would consider him to be a truly delicious morsel, humans who would hunt him for the sin of being different, Winged Ones who would destroy him out of fear and spite. So many dangers in this wondrous wood, he supposes it’s part of the appeal.

Sam treads carefully. He’s been lectured enough about not being seen, about hiding in the shadows, about staying away from the winged creatures who cursed them to this existence.  The creatures are the stuff of every Tussocks’ nightmare. They’re the reason Sam and his kind look the way they do, even if it’s not how they look to each other. The outside world can only see them as what the winged creatures cursed them to be: monsters.

He supposes he should be as angry and bitter as most of his clan is. He should probably be bent on destroying every winged creature in existence, the way they are.  Be set on seeking retribution for all his kind has suffered. Yet, he finds he’s simply not able to muster that kind of contempt. It’s just not his nature and neither is it to blindly accept the Elders’ dogma.

There must be some truth woven into the stories they're told. Maybe. At one point. These days, he’s not so sure.  No one has even seen a Winged One in ages and Sam has seen too much to take anything at blind faith. He’s explored the world outside their protected cove for years. Hiding in the underbrush, climbing onto the highest branches, always careful and sure to remain invisible until he’s certain it’s safe. He is a discoverer of all things unspoken of and unknown to all but perhaps the Elders. He’s befriended all manner of animals most don’t even know exist.  (Sam gave the birds a chance, but quickly learned they would never be his friends. He was more appealing as meal than a friend to them.) He’s learned about the different fauna and their properties and even learned about the Humans. Hunters, they called themselves, self-assigned “protectors” against anything that falls outside the scope of their small-minded definition of normal. (Sam’s kind is powerful, but less interested in the human world than any Hunter could possibly imagine. Not that that’s stopped them.)

 

Sam climbs until he reaches the top most branch of the ancient, majestic tree. From his perch the world looks as small and desolate as he sometimes feels. Sam has traveled further than anyone of his kind has in centuries. All in secret. In silence. Already a freak and outcast, he has so much to share and no one to share it with it. It makes for an excruciatingly lonely existence. From this height, the world is very small and himself insignificant in it. He looks down to the forest floor and wonders if he’s doomed to always be alone.

The shriek startles him, but only for a moment, enough for him to focus on what’s before him, as soon as he realizes what he’s looking at he’s simply too enthralled to be afraid. Before him is myth come to life.  

Sam has never seen a live Winged One, only pictures in their history books. Pictures of winged creatures with blazing eyes and razor sharp teeth. Wicked. Frightening. Their bodies almost insect like. Nothing like the winged person standing before him, who looks more like a child sized human with wings. Its nearly as tall as Sam is long, though Sam figures he’s just a bit bigger than it.  The creature, Sam is certain it is a Winged One, it must be, doesn’t resemble any description of his kind Sam has ever seen or heard. Sam grins, not believing his good fortune.

 

The creature crouches down, a long, needle like blade suddenly in his hand, and growls. “Don’t come any closer.”

The creature’s wings ruffle then come down protectively around him like armor. Its graceful and, well, beautiful. Sam stands still not wanting to provoke it. He’s not offended by its reaction. He knows what he looks like to the outside world: black, scaly, with a caterpillar shaped body and horned head and a dozen red, glowing eyes. A monster. A freak.

 “Okay.” Sam offers.

 The winged one’s eyes go wide with disbelief. “You can speak.”

“Of course, I can speak,” Sam snorts, offended. How stupid are these creatures? All living things “speak”, in their own ways, some may not be easily understood, but they do communicate. Though it is surprising that Sam and the creature apparently share a common language.

 

The creature unfurls his wing as he stands, but doesn’t lower his blade. In the diffused light of the wood, the creature looks every part the mythical being. Light filters through its wings, causing them to sparkle. The light bathes its face in a soft glow. It has the effect of paling his skin, highlighting the light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks and showcasing his luminescent eyes, which are the color of wet moss. The effect is breathtaking, enchanting. Sam backs away, not out of fear of being hurt, but out of confusion for the strange stirring the sight of the creature provokes.

 

“Wait,” the creature says, holding his sword in one hand and raising the other in a placating motion. “I,” he says as he takes a tentative step forward. “You’re one of them, a Tussock. I’ve never actually seen one of you.”

The comment snaps Sam out of his trance. “And I’ve never seen one of your kind either and yet my first reaction wasn’t to attack you.” He says indignantly.

 The creature bristles as this, its wings shuddering in annoyance. Its brow furrows; its lips press together tightly.  “I was defending myself. That’s not the same thing as attacking.”

 “Defending yourself against what? You came and disrupted me, not the other way around.”

 Its wings beat a little faster and his face flushes with anger. “This is part of our border.” It growls, pointing his index finger at Sam “ _You_ are trespassing on,” it points to itself, “ _our_ lands.”

 Sam shrugs, wondering for a moment what that gesture looks like to the creature. “I wasn’t aware you claimed the forest. I think our Council of Elders would have something to say about that.”

 The creature slams its sword into its sheath and steps forward. “You know, damn well, your kind isn’t supposed to venture past the cove.”

 

Up close, the creature is even more beautiful than it was from afar. Sam takes a moment to remind himself that it’s this creature and all his kind’s fault that Sam and his people have lived in isolation for so long.

 

“I don’t know anything about that, Creature.” Sam hisses, doing his best to tamp down his own anger.

The winged one steps back in surprise. “Creature? You’re the monster here!”

 Disappointment burns through Sam. “Of course.”

 

Disgusted at having this incredible moment of discovery spoiled by the reality of what the creatures are truly like, Sam turns away and quickly makes his way down to the ground, acutely aware that the creature could easily come after him.  

“What the,” the creature exclaims, the remainder his words quickly getting lost as Sam scurries away.

 

~~~

Dean barges into headquarters still seething over his interaction with the monster, its stuck up, smug manner and that ridiculous “creature” bullshit. It’s the goddamned monster, not him! The sound of the door slamming against the stone wall as he shoves it open reverberates through the silent room.

 

“Everything all right, son?” His father, John looks up from the large map covering his desk top. He looks more amused than concerned.

Dean glances around the room; his father is not alone. Several of the Men of Letters are browsing the bookshelves or working at their stations. He takes a deep breath, trying to reign in his irritation, trying to decide whether to report his interaction with the Tussock. It’s his duty, he reasons, to raise the alarm. Let them know the Tussocks are trespassing onto their land. No one has seen a Tussock on Artace land in decades. Surely, the Tussocks’ sudden appearance means something. They’re dangerous, ferocious monsters. They have to be stopped...except, the Tussock didn’t seem particularly ferocious. It didn’t seem know it had trespassed. It didn’t even seem to know it was a monster. It certainly didn’t act the way Dean had been raised to expect.

It’d probably be considered irresponsible of him to raise the alarm over just one, seemingly peaceful, if not pain in the ass, Tussock. Hell, for all Dean knows he’s sufficiently scared the thing off. It ran away quickly enough...though it didn’t seem particularly scared. If anything, it seemed offended and pissed off.  He runs his hands through his hair and lets out an agitated groan.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Dean grinds out, deciding it’d be better to keep his discovery to himself for now, at least until he can learn more.

 He exits the main room and stomps down a side corridor. There is only person he can talk to about this and it’s definitely not his father.

 

Dean finds Ash hunched over his work desk, disassembling a black, rectangular box with circular glass lenses in its middle.

“What’s that?” Dean asks as he closes the door to Ash’s dungeon like office.

“A camera,” he responds never looking up from the task at hand.

Dean grabs a stool from one of other desks, drags over to where Ash is working, sets it down directly across from him and then perches on it.

“What does it do?”

“As far as I can tell, it captures images.” Ash sets the disemboweled box down and looks up at Dean. “I appropriated it from one of the hunters trapped in the fairy circle by the border last week.”

Dean quirks an eyebrow, wondering just how Ash managed that. Fairies are notoriously territorial and greedy little bastards to boot.

“So,” Ash asks, wiping his hands down his leather apron and then through his long, blond hair. “How can I help you?” He sets his hands on his hips and looks at Dean expectantly.

Dean shifts in his seat, nervous about revealing his discovery. His instincts tell him it’s safe to reveal the monster’s existence to Ash. Still, he can’t help but worry.  

 Dean rubs the back of his neck, “Well, I saw a Tussock today.”

Ash looks at him blankly for several seconds, before tipping his head slightly and murmuring. “Hmmm.”

“Hmmm?” Dean asks, annoyed with Ash’s indifference. He’s encountered a near mythological monster and all Ash can say is _Hmmm_?

Ash shrugs.

“No one has seen a Tussock in decades. Nearly a hundred years! I thought, I don’t know. This is a big deal!”

Ash plucks a magnifying glass off one of the other work tables. “Well, to others it might be.”

“But not to you,” Dean huffs.

“No. I’m in regular contact with the Tussock Master of Science and Magic, so no.”

Dean gawks at Ash. “What?”

Ash sets the looking glass down. He regards Dean with a mixture impatience and pity then sighs.

“Come on,” he says, removing his apron. “How about I tell you all about it over a couple of ales?”

 

Over four ales and two pipe fulls of muirweed, Ash summarily destroys everything Dean thinks he knows about not only about the Tussock, but about themselves.

 

 

After his discussion with Ash, Dean decides to make it his mission to uncover the truth. Knowing full well, that to do so, he will need to speak to the Tussock again, which he imagines won’t be easy. Their encounter had been sheer happenstance. He’s determined though. He’ll make it happen. He’ll work whatever additional patrols he can and select the worst shifts, those he knows will take him closer to the Cove. He’ll do whatever he has to, because if even half of what Ash said is true, it’s high time someone did something about it.

 

It’s nearing dusk. On the tail end of another 12-hour shift, Dean is barely awake, moving like an automaton through the edge of the wood. He’s tired and beyond disheartened. It’s been months. He’s patrolled every inch of their border and never once caught sight of the Tussock.  He pauses, looks up to the pastel colored sky. He wonders about the Monster, he chastises himself for calling it that, reminding himself that it hadn’t behaved very monster-like at all. That, if Ash is to be believed, the Tussock aren’t monsters at all.  

 

Dean resumes his patrol, walking at the edge of a field of tall grass. He glances out, watching the grass bend with the evening breeze. It’s peaceful, hypnotizing even. Which is why he doesn’t register the clucking and faint growls or the rustling of shifting grass, not at first anyway.  The growing ruckus finally snaps him to full attention. He watches as the grass separates briefly then melts back together. The rustling grows louder as the line of parting grass approaches the border where he stands. Dean unsheathes his sword and holds it double-fisted before him. Ready for whatever might be coming for him.  His heart thumps rapidly in anticipation. Sweat beads on his brow. Whatever it is it’s moving fast.

The clucking and growling grow and a reach a peak as a white blur bursts through the grass, coming to a screeching halt a foot in front of him. Dean doesn’t register what the blur is; he swings at it without thought, convinced he’s being attacked. The white bundle shrieks, it’s cry so like the cry of a child that it causes him to step back, halting mid-swing. The effort of stopping his forward momentum unbalances him, enough that when a black mass rushes out of the grass, bumping into him as it encircles the blur, it topples Dean to the ground. It happens in seconds.

 

 “What the hell is wrong with you?!”  

Dean looks up to find the monster looming over him. His jagged teeth bared in anger. And Dean, who should be afraid, maybe even a little angry, laughs. He had nearly given up and here it found him. He sits up, folding over as his laughter turns more hysterical. His laughter wars with the cries of what he now can see is a bunny rabbit. He laughs even harder at that. Good gods!

 The Tussock growls at him, seemingly annoyed by Dean’s inappropriate response to his threatening behavior.

 “Seriously,” it spits, standing down and turning its attention to the rabbit. “What’s wrong with you?”

It winds itself tightly around the rabbit, hugging it to his body.  It lowers its head, speaking quietly to the bunny until its cries cease. Dean watches in silence. Not understanding why, the Tussock is protecting the bunny or why the bunny is not afraid of it. The bunny shoots anxious glares at Dean, chittering angrily at the Tussock. It’s bizarre. The Tussock leans in further, whispers something in the bunny’s ear then shoos it back into the grass.

“Killing bunnies now?” The Tussock asks, turning his attention back to Dean.

“Not as a rule, “Dean replies, standing up and reclaiming his fallen sword. They do, in fact, hunt rabbits and all manner of other woodland creatures, but he’s not about to admit that. He doesn’t know where the Tussock gets off acting so superior, it’s not like it isn’t probably a carnivore as well.

“You scared Joe half to death. “

“It has a name?”

The Tussock looks at him like he’s the stupidest being in existence. Dean considers that killing the Tussock really may be the way to go.

The Tussock balances carefully on the hind portion of its body which reminds Dean of a caterpillar. It’s tall, maybe even taller than Dean.

“You’re a jerk.” It snarls.

“And you’re a pretentious little bitch.” Dean snarls right back. Seriously, who does this thing think it is?

 

They glare at each other, which isn’t easy. Dean has no idea where to focus his angry stare. The Tussock glowers at him for a moment longer then roars in frustration. It spins around suddenly, as if to go.

“Running away again?” Dean taunts.

The Tussock uncoils itself, standing fully upright. It’s body widening, as if it were puffing out its chest. It leans in close enough that Dean can feel it’s breath on his face.

“I could kill you, you know.” It threatens.

 

For a second, Dean doubts himself, wonders if maybe he’d read the Tussock all wrong...this monster, who only minutes ago, was consoling a terrified rabbit. No, he thinks, he’s not wrong.  This monster is no monster at all.

Dean takes a step back, forcibly relaxing his body, doing his best to take a non-threatening stance. “You got a name?”

“What?” The Tussock stutters.

“A name. I’m sick of calling you ‘monster’ or ‘Tussock’ in my head. My name is Dean.” He offers it his hand. The Tussock glances at it then at him. Dean has no idea how he knows the what its blank look means, but he does. It’s as clear as if it had voiced its disbelief. Dean lowers his hand and shoves both hands into his pockets, feeling awkward and a little foolish.

It eyes him warily, before finally answering, “My name is Sam.”

Dean smiles triumphantly, happy to finally be getting somewhere. Sam on the other hand, doesn’t seem pleased at all. Sam’s red eyes widen, as if he’s just realized something truly terrible.  He skitters back, ready to run. Again.

“Hey, wait. I want to talk to you.”

“I have to go.” Sam chokes out then retreats quickly into the grass.

“Sam!” Dean shouts, but it’s no use Sam is already gone.

 

~~~

It’s dark by the time Sam arrives at home. He’s breathless, not only from racing back, but from the memory of the strange and unfathomable feelings that shot through him earlier when the Winged One, no, when Dean smiled at him. Never in his long life has Sam felt such an emotion-hot and suffocating, but thrilling. It was the same emotion he’d felt when they had first met, except instead of being a prickle this time it was a full burn. Dean leveled that smile at Sam and obliterated everything Sam thought he knew about attraction, about love.

 

Sam manages to slip back into his quarters without being seen and quietly closes his chamber door behind him. He presses his back to it, willing his heart to stop pounding and his head to stop spinning. _What is happening?_ He wonders if maybe he’s been poisoned or if a glamour has been cast on him.  He can’t explain the source of emotion otherwise. He spoken to Dean twice, each time proving more aggravating than the last. While Dean maybe aesthetically pleasing, the fact is that Sam knows nothing about the creature, except that it is a Winged One, their enemy, their curse and the reason for their exile.

It did something to him, he reasons. Dean must have. Sam’s heart begins to race anew at the very thought of him. He pounds the door with a closed fist and growls in irritation. _Screw this_ , he thinks. He’s not going to let one winged creature, no matter how beautiful, rattle him. And gods, Dean is beautiful, with his moss-green eyes and his perfect smile and the way the light...Sam shakes his head. _NO!_ What Sam needs is information-not the lore, not the fairy tales, but facts about the Winged Ones. Sam shoves off the door and straightens his jerkin.  He knows just where to get it.

 

Sam takes a deep breath, pausing at the door whose brass plate reads “Robert Singer, Master of Science and Magic”. It’s a bullshit title, a screw you from the Council, who doesn’t believe in Science, having deemed it a human construct meant to erode the power of magic in the mystical realms. Sam takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the difficult conversation ahead. Sam should have reported his encounter with the Winged One ages ago. He has no idea how Bobby will react. He may be Sam’s mentor and closest friend, but he’s also a member of the Council.

As Sam raises his fist to knock, the door yanks open. “Well, are you coming in or are you just going to hover in the doorway?”

 

Sam, it turns out, didn’t have anything to worry about. Bobby listens to his tale with a bemused expression, his reactions limited to a quirked eyebrow or the occasional smirk. Sam bites back his annoyance. From Bobby’s reaction, you’d would think stumbling across a Winged One (TWICE!) was as common as stepping in beetle dung.

Sam rushes through his second encounter, ready to awe Bobby with the revelation of knowing the Winged One’s name. He’s doubly disappointed when Bobby nods and says, “Oh, John’s kid.”

“You know him?” Sam asks incredulously.

Bobby shakes his head. “Dean? No, I’ve never met the boy. I know of him though from Ash.”

Sam slumps into his chair. He can’t believe it. Here he thought he’d discovered something unique and wondrous, that he held an astonishing secret.

“So, I’m guessing you have a bunch of question for me then.” Bobby offers and Sam nods.

 

Sam had known that the histories passed down to them through their parents and their schooling couldn’t all be true. Having Bobby confirm his suspicions feels, as if a weight he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying, has been lifted off him. It proved he wasn’t just a freak or a provocateur. His instinct had been right and he was right to follow it.

 

“You could have told me sooner.” Sam tells Bobby once the older man is done. “Do you have any idea how alone I’ve felt all of these years? I thought,” his voice cracks and he stops, fearing he won’t be able to control his emotions.

Bobby shakes his head. “Yes, I do. I’ve been alone in this for decades. The Elders can’t be rid of me, but they’ve done their best to silence me. Why do you think I’m down here in this well-disguised dungeon? I couldn’t say anything without endangering you. You were already too curious for your own good. I did my best to guide you and keep you safe. I’m sorry I waited so long, son.”

 Sam blinks away tears. He nods; he knows the Council’s opinion of Bobby. He doesn’t blame Bobby, but he does regret the years they could have spent researching the outside world together.

“Then why now? What’s changed?”

Bobby leans back in his chair and sighs. “No one has seen an Artace is decades. Well, outside myself. If you and Dean can find some common ground, maybe it will lay the foundation for change.”

Sam glances around the cluttered office, pondering Bobby’s words. Maybe, he thinks, they could be the catalyst for change, not just in their inter-tribal relations, but maybe his own. He calls to memory Dean’s beaming smile; a shiver runs down his spine. If only it were possible.

They sit in awkward silence for a moment. Sam doesn’t know what to say. He understands why Bobby kept his silence, but is still hurt. He does his best to push past it, though, knowing Bobby was only acting in what he felt was Sam’s best interest.

 “I have journals,” Sam offers, as a means to express his forgiveness. “I’ve kept thorough notes of everything. I could bring them the next time I see you.”

 Bobby swallows hard then clears his throat. “I’d like that.”

 Sam stands and offers Bobby his hand. Bobby grabs it, stands and then pulls Sam into a tight hug. “Be careful out there.”

 Sam extricates himself from Bobby’s tight embrace and promises he will be. He makes his way across the cluttered office to door, stopping before heading into the hallway. He turns back to Bobby. “Do you think you could get a message to your friend for me?”

 

~~~

Dean sits patiently just inside the tree line. He’s been at the designated meeting site for some time now. It was easier to slip out in the pre-morning dawn than it would have been to wait until later. He had managed to sneak away without encountering a single soul, which is exactly how he’d wanted it. Soon it will be time for everyone to know about the Tussock and about Sam, but for now he wants Sam all to himself.

Dean glances up at the sky; it’s mid-morning. Sam, he thinks, should arrive shortly. He looks down either side of the creek bed, checking for Sam and catches a glimpse of something moving on the opposite side of the creek. When Sam emerges from the wood, Dean stands and waves.

 

They eat the meal Dean brought with him, as they talk. It’s a mixture of berries, cheeses and a few grasses. Tussocks, it turns out, are herbivores. Dean had felt even worse than he already did about the bunny incident after that revelation. (Dean would never admit it to Sam, but knowing the game he hunts has a name has made consuming it, difficult.) They chat easily about their week. Sam regales him with stories of his excursion into the human farmlands. Dean shares the details of his latest encounter with the gnomes in Englendale.

Dean marvels at just how easy it is to talk to Sam. He’s astonished at how quickly Sam has become his closest confidant. Sam has, in less than a year, become an invaluable part of Dean’s life.  Sam knows everything there is to know about Dean and vice versa. Once they’d gotten past their initial prejudices, it had been as if there had never been a time when they were strangers to each other.  They’ve spent hours discussing Artace and Tussock history, describing the day to day life of their clans, and separating the truths from the lies they had been told about each other.  They’ve shared their triumphs and their struggles and provided each other comfort and companionship. Now, Dean can’t imagine a life without Sam in it.

Sam pops a handful of blackberries into his mouth then licks the juice off his lips. Sam grins like an overgrown puppy, his black-blue tongue peeking out through his jagged teeth.  How strange it is to think that Dean ever thought of Sam as something to be feared.  Dean shakes his head and smiles.

“What’s that smile mean?” Sam’s red eyes narrow playfully. In the morning light, they glimmer like rubies. It’s strangely enchanting, a dozen windows into Sam’s souls.  Warmth flushes through Dean; he doesn’t ever want to lose this. Never wants to lose Sam. It’s a startling thought. Dean has never felt so strongly for another. It dawns on him then that his feelings for Sam might not be strictly platonic.  

Maybe that should trouble Dean.  Sam is, after all, trapped in the body of a monster. Sam tips his horned head up toward the canopy. That should matter, but it just doesn’t. There is so much more to Sam than what the world sees. For the first time, Dean wonders, if asked to, whether Sam would share what his true form is like.

 

They’ve discussed the curse and its effects. Dean knows that how he sees Sam isn’t how Sam sees himself. It isn’t Sam’s true form. He also knows the curse is unbreakable and so, has never asked Sam for details. He figured Sam would share those details when he was ready. Whatever questions Dean had never mattered enough to warrant possibly offending Sam, or worse hurting him. 

 Sam nudges Dean. “Hey, are you okay?”

Sam’s body is cool and dry where it’s pressed against his forearm. It’s smooth, like a worn river rock. Sam glances at him, waiting for his reply, all the while shifting his hard scales to mimic a caress. They’ve comforted each other this way before. Pressed side by side, Dean stroking Sam’s back or sometimes with Sam coiled around Dean, shielding him from the world.

 Dean smiles softly.  No, there’s no point in asking. It just doesn’t matter. He loves Sam, he realizes, just as he is. If that means that this is the only type of affection they’ll be able to share, Dean finds he’s surprisingly okay with that.

 

~~~

 

“Be still,” Sam tells Joe, Jr. for the tenth time.

“Sam,” Joe, Jr. whines, “it’s been ages.”

Sam ignores him. He’s furiously trying to finish his sketch, before the bunny loses all ability to sit still.

Once Joe, Jr. catches a glimpse of Dean entering the field, though, it’s all over.

“Dean!” He shrieks and bolts in Dean’s direction. Dean crouches down, catching Joe, Jr. as he leaps into his arms. “Hey, buddy.” Dean laughs.

 

Gods, Sam will never tire of that sound. He sets his pencil and sketch pad down and stretches to his full height.

“Scary,” Dean teases, as he sets Joe, Jr. down. The bunny bounces away with a flicker of his ears and a shouted goodbye.

“Sorry, I’m late.” Dean says. “The council meeting nearly came to blows. Thank gods for Ash and Bobby. We knew it wouldn’t be easy, but,” he shrugs and lets out a long sigh.

 Sam nods in understanding and leans into Dean. Dean wraps his arms around him. Sam’s body aches with relief at Dean’s touch. In that moment, Sam is grateful Dean can’t see him blush. It’s difficult enough to not give himself away. He already feels foolish enough, what with the way he savors ever touch, every embrace, every moment he spends with Dean. He’s thankful for his armor. It at least helps him keep his secret. Which is exactly what it needs to remain, for what would someone as beautiful as Dean ever want with someone who looks like Sam? It’s enough to be his most trusted friend. Isn’t it?

 

They embrace, not speaking, for a long time until finally Dean squeezes Sam tightly, then lets him go. “Listen, Sam. I have something I need to tell you.”

“Okay, that’s ominous.” Sam tries to joke.

Dean chuckles then scrubs the back of his neck, the way he always does when he’s nervous. Sam’s gut clenches, but he doesn’t let his own anxiousness show. Whatever it is, he can tell Dean is finding it difficult to say.

Dean clears his throat. “Did you know, it’s been two years since we met? Two years to the day.”

Sam nods again.

Dean’s wings flutter, spread then droop a little. It’s such an uncharacteristic loss of composure. Sam suddenly loses all ability to pretend he’s not scared to death of what Dean will say.

“Dean?” he whispers. “What is it?”

Dean turns his back to Sam and Sam’s heart swoops into his belly.

“I don’t know how to say this.”

“Please, Dean. Just say it.”

Dean takes a deep breath then turns to face him. “I love you. Not just as my friend, but…more. Maybe you knew that. I don’t know. It’s just the way you look at me, I thought maybe you might feel the same and it’s been two years and, I don’t know. I thought maybe it was time for me to say something.”

 

Sam stares at Dean, his mind unable to process what he’s heard. It couldn’t be that Dean said he loved him. That’s. No. Sam must have misunderstood.

“Sam? I’m dying here; say something for gods-sake.”

Sam shakes off his surprise, letting the words fill every corner of his racing heart. Dean loves him. Him. Of all the things, he thought Dean might say, that Dean loves him wasn’t even a consideration. 

Sam can’t contain his joy; he barrels into Dean in a failed attempt to embrace him. He doesn’t manage it, but does knock them both to the ground.

“Sam!” Dean squeaks. “What the hell!”

Sam pins Dean down, the tip of his sharp nose perilously close to Dean’s own. “I love you, too.” He laughs.

“Damn it, Sam.” Dean complains. “You had me worried there for a second.”

They share a laugh that sputters into silence. Dean runs his hand across the hard, sharp, horn-like bone on the side of Sam’s head. The touch paralyzes Sam with desire, but also acutely reminds him of why being with Dean is so impossible. No matter how he feels, he couldn’t keep Dean from having a chance to be with someone he could have a life, a real life, with. The idea he and Dean could be together is just a dream. Dean deserves the real world beneath the dreaming.

 “Stop it.” Dean admonishes, sitting up then taking Sam’s head in his hands. “I can hear you thinking. I love you. You hear me? I love you.”

Sam chokes back a sob. He’d been alone for so long, been without contact, without even the prospect that someone might someday love him and here is this creature giving him everything he’d ever dreamed he might one day have. A hot tear travels down the slope of Sam’s face. Dean wipes it gently away.

“I love you,” he whispers again and kisses the tip of Sam’s nose.

 

For a second, Sam’s body is a flame, energy shoots through him and out with blinding ferocity. He feels as if he’s being split in two. The pain is all encompassing. Sam screams; thinks maybe he hears Dean screaming too. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything but the pain. Until finally, it stops.

 

Sam gasps, sucking in deep breaths, through his sobs. Every molecule in his body aches.

“Sam?”

Sam glances up from where he lays into Dean’s confused, frightened face.  He pushes himself up into a half sitting position and Dean crawls forward.

Dean cradles his face, “Is it you?”

Sam worries that maybe Dean was hurt as well. “Course.” Sam manages.

“Oh, gods!” Dean laughs and throws his arms around Sam. Dean’s weight is too much for his battered body. He tries to squirm out of his hold, but that’s even more painful. He gives up, muttering a pathetic “ouch” in protest.

Dean releases him and grabs Sam’s hands. “Look.”

Sam looks. It’s the same hands he had this morning. Sam must look as confused as he feels, because Dean shakes his hands and laughs, “Your hands, Sam. I can see your hands! I can see you!”

Sam tugs his hands out of Dean’s grasp and inspects his arms. He stands, with Dean’s help, and looks at his legs.

“You have wings,” Dean exclaims. Sam reaches back to touch, looking like a puppy chasing its own tail.

Sam feels the velvety edge of his own wing and bursts into a mixture of laughter and tears.

“You broke it. You broke the curse.”

Sam touches Dean’s shoulder then his neck then his face. Gods, he wants to touch every part of him.

“I don’t understand.” Sam murmurs as he skims the shell of Dean’s ear. Dean’s wings shiver.

“Must have been true love’s kiss,” Dean teases, his eyes never leaving Sam’s.

“Really?” Sam snickers, flicking Dean’s earlobe.

“Hey!”

“True love’s kiss.” Sam snorts.

“You got another explanation?” Dean punches Sam’s shoulder. Sam retaliates by grabbing Dean by the waist. Soon they’re both back on the ground, wrestling as they debate the power of true love’s kiss.

 

They’re both covered in dust and sweat by the time they wear each other down. Sam can hold his own in a fight, but Dean is the more skilled of the two. He pins Sam beneath him; Sam is more than happy to let him.

“Say it.” Dean demands.

Sam laughs and leans up to kiss Dean’s nose. “Fine. It was true love’s kiss.”

They both laugh as Dean eases off him and helps Sam up.

“Looks like dreams do come true, Sammy.”

Sam takes Dean’s hand into his own. “Yeah, looks like they do.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
